


French Lessons

by seanchaidh



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seanchaidh/pseuds/seanchaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New relationships have their ups and downs, and their zigzags, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	French Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in "The Other Siide" by BC Press.
> 
> This is meant to pick up a lot of loose ends left from Season Four's "The Curse."

  
**  
French Lessons   
**

by Seanchaidh  
[seanchaidh101@yahoo.com](mailto:seanchaidh101@yahoo.com)

I barely remembered getting home.

For most of the morning since reading the tabloid, I wandered through the halls of the SGC on an aimless quest. The tabloid's tasteless report on Dr. Jordan's death wasn't something I really wanted to take at face value, and I begged off the mission briefing to look into the tragedy. I found his obituary in the Chicago _Tribune_ , with a funeral planned for later in the day. I was lucky to find a flight that would get me there in time. It was easy to get permission from General Hammond to take off for a day or two. Well, he actually said I could take all the time I needed, but I didn't plan on staying long.

So then I headed home to pack. My flight left at 1100, so I had a good ninety minutes before I even needed to be at the airport. I had time to wonder about this new development in my life.

I didn't talk too much about my life before the Stargate. I guess it's because there isn't much to discuss, or at least I think so. My parents died. Nick walked out of my life and came back when I was an adult. I went to school. I graduated and became a doctor of archaeology.

Somewhere in there, I moved to Chicago to study under Dr. Jordan's supervision. He became my mentor, and a much needed guide in my life. There weren't many of those throughout the years. With his guidance, I turned from a mere academic into a scholar. I learned so much from him, and what did I do?

I delivered a lecture in Los Angeles to a group that left for an early lunch.

The joke still isn't funny.

My fall from academic grace was a fiery one. I often wonder if Lucifer's fall was anything similar to mine. I noticed discrepancies in accepted Egyptological thought, and pursued them until I thought I had something. I had solid evidence about the development of the Egyptian script, and the data clearly showed an origin of centuries - millennia - before the traditional dates.

I just couldn't say who invented it, and why it happened so early.

To be honest, that was never one of my concerns. All I wanted to prove was that the conventional dates were flawed, that there was solid evidence to prove that a written language existed in Egypt before the reign of King Narmer. I guess it could be to my credit that there are some people who picked up on this and used my data to show there was a functioning civilization in the pre-Dynastic period.

Stephen Rayner was the first to mention the aliens. When I first started working on my theories, I kept it strictly to myself. Not once did I have a Von Däniken moment. Hell, I bashed those theories as freely as anyone else, but one day, Stephen found one of my open notebooks and started reading. The next time he saw me, he started dropping little hints that he knew what I was doing and then the jokes began.

The situation went downhill from there.

Word began to spread about my work and my shroud of secrecy began to wear thin. I figured there was no harm in publishing a few papers here and there with a few of my initial ideas - all backed thoroughly with research. The feedback and reviews sent back to me weren't exactly uplifting. My colleagues began to feel free to make rude comments on my research, but I persevered. I knew I was right, and given enough time, I could prove myself to everyone.

Everyone pulled away, following Stephen's example. Even Sarah Gardner, the woman who said she loved me then screwed me and backed away. The only person who continued to respect me was Dr. Jordan. I suppose he had a deep hope that I wouldn't make a fool of myself, and I _did_ honor his wish. I collected enough evidence to prove my theory, and I was set to present my findings to my archaeological peers in Los Angeles.

That is, until some loud mouthed moron I didn't even know tossed out comments about Martians and men from Atlantis. When I came back from Abydos, I happened to find out accidentally that the undistinguished gentleman and Stephen had crossed paths a few months before my swansong. At the time, the idiot's words gave my audience permission to leave, and I hadn't even presented my first point yet. My last hope for a serious scholastic career was extinguished.

Before I left for Colorado and Catherine Langford's promise of a job that would prove my theories, I used some of my lingering change to send Dr. Jordan a letter. I told him I was sorry. It wasn't closure, and I don't even know if he accepted the apology.

But what is closure? I've never had closure in my entire life. My life with my parents was interrupted. My career wasn't quite finished, and then I lost Sha're before we even left the honeymoon stage of our relationship. Nick might have been a type of closure, but there was so much more I wanted to say to him when he walked off with his giant aliens, ne'er to be seen again or so I suspected. Despite all this, I had a hope deep down that one day, I could take all my knowledge about the Goa'uld and their role in human history, and present it to my mentor.

And now I was robbed of that, too. I was instead heading back to a funeral populated by ex-colleagues who still thought I was a few cups short of a pot. The deranged Dr. Daniel Jackson returning from a five year absence to grovel forgiveness from the cold corpse of his former advisor as snide, self-righteous ignoramuses look on.

That's why I didn't invite Jack.

It's no secret what Jack O'Neill would do if left alone with even one of my former co-workers. We get enough new archaeologists at the SGC who've heard bad things about me. They look at me strangely and practically cross themselves if I'm even in the same room as them. That would be about when they encounter Colonel Jack O'Neill in full military jackass mode.

Even before we were lovers, Jack was protective. He's just like that.

He would rip them new ones, to put it in polite language.

I love him for that streak, as annoying as it can be sometimes. He knows I don't approve of it all the time, but when I have down days about what I'm missing in academia, he cheers me up by regaling his wish list. Well, it's not technically a wish list, but more of a to-do list. He knows a few names, but despite that, he knows what he wants to do to my faithless colleagues. As noble as the idea might be, Dr. Jordan's funeral was not the place to avenge my honor.

I tried to let him down. Nicely.

With the briefing delayed, Jack told me that he'd be along to take me to the airport. They were the words of a friend, but with the deeper meaning of a lover. When he let himself into my apartment half an hour later, he went over to where I was staring out the closed balcony doors. He touched my shoulder, and when I continued to stare, he pulled me in and anchored me to reality.

"I'm sorry about your professor," he murmured, his lips brushing again my ear. He knew from the start that this wasn't just any professor. In those first moments of shock after reading the news, he gathered me from the table and took me over to Hammond's office to get permission for a leave of absence.

"Thanks," I replied, my voice soft. I rested my hands over his arms, closing my eyes. His warmth was a comfort I hadn't experienced since Sha're. I turned within the circle and wrapped my own arms about his waist. I buried my face against the musky calm of his leather jacket. Jack pressed his cheek against the side of my neck, and the still unfamiliar rasp of whiskers brushed my skin. Unfamiliar, but still thrilling in its lingering newness.

He held me for a long time. I didn't want to cry, and I doubted I would. Maybe I would later in Chicago, when there was an actual body to make this all the more real, but I remained dry-eyed. Finally, I pulled back with a smile brighter than I actually felt.

"I should get packing," I said. I could hear a hint of a tremor in my voice, but Jack didn't seem to mind. I still felt embarrassed, and looked away. I waved at the living room with a fling of my hand. "Sit down and get comfortable. I shouldn't be too long."

I rushed to my bedroom before I could hear an actual reply.

I didn't need much for my trip. My good suit, pants, a shirt or two, socks and underwear. My toothbrush and a few toiletries. I went around the room, methodically picking up what I needed. The effort I put into collecting things took my mind off Dr. Jordan's death and all that it signified. I let my mind blank. The release was welcome.

Until Jack followed me in. I didn't hear him until he spoke.

"So, Daniel, when is our flight leaving?"

Oh, boy. I looked up from where I was shoving clothes into a bag. Jack was leaning against the doorway, his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his jacket as he watched me. He seemed calm and patient. My hero in black leather.

"Our flight?" I repeated. I lifted an eyebrow at him, as though that was the most absurd thing I'd ever heard. Right. I went back to my packing as I spoke and wandered to the dressing table. "Jack, you're staying here. You'll be going to P4Y382 with Sam and Teal'c, remember?"

"Well, that's the plan, but you how plans always change at the last minute," he said and shrugged. "I just need to call Hammond and ask him to postpone the mission. I'm positive he won't mind, and besides, there are seats still left on your flight. Easy. I want to be with you when you go."

I sighed. "Jack..."

"And it's not just because we're together," he continued. That's a minor paranoia of ours, that our previous actions as friends would suddenly scream out to the world that we were having sex. I think we overcompensated, because we've heard concerns from people lately who think we're fighting. Oh, well. "I know this is important to you. I haven't seen you like this since, well -"

"Yeah, it guess it is," I quickly cut in. I knew what he was going to say. I hadn't been like this since Robert Rothman died three months ago on P3X888. Another blow without closure. I never could say goodbye, and I still felt guilty over his death. I never should have brought him into the SGC, it was that simple. "Dr. Jordan meant a lot to me. He was my teacher, my colleague, and... it's corny, but in a lot of ways, he as a father-figure. I looked up to him. He gave me support in a period of my life when I wasn't getting a hell of a lot of anything but flak."

"Over your theories on the age of old squiggles?" he teased. He slowly made his way toward me. I watched his progression from the mirror. "It sounds me to like I owe him a big favor, then. At the very least, a big thanks."

I gave a wry smile as he came to slip his arms around me again. "Actually, he sort of humored me in the hope I'd finally realize that my theories would remain just theories. I may have been right, but... well, he said that Egyptology and the entire field of archaeology just weren't ready for everything to be upended. Not that I thought I would actually do that, but... I wanted to try."

"But I'm sure he was still proud of you in the end," Jack said, and gave me a hug to emphasize his point. "I mean, you proved your integrity, and you had the guts to go through with what you believe. That says a lot."

"To some people," I said, and the tone was colored by Sarah's rejection, Stephen's scorn, an empty lecture hall, and a non-existent life outside the SGC. The Stargate would likely remain classified for several more years, and maybe I wouldn't outlive that time. Any knowledge I could share about our discoveries here were packed under miles of red tape. I had nowhere else to go.

That's why I escaped to Abydos. Forget the money for a job well done. I had found a place to begin anew, with a woman I loved, and a new world to explore and educate.

"Hey!" Jack shook me, and his dark eyes stared at me from the reflection. "Those qualities make you who you are, and I don't want to hear _anything_ mocking about yourself."

"I didn't say anything," I protested, and a tiny smile curved my lips.

"Maybe you didn't, but I know that overworked brain of yours too well," he said, and pressed a kiss to my hair. "So there. And I'm still going."

"Why?" I questioned.

"You're serious? Dammit, Daniel, I'd be sending you into the lion's den!" He stopped and winced. "Okay, unintentional and bad pun, but besides the point..."

I rolled my eyes. "Very nice. I can see my influence is finally beginning to wear off on you. The point remains that you're staying here."

"Not!" he said petulantly. "The whole failed pun thing just shows that you shouldn't be going alone. This is your mentor's funeral. You _shouldn't_ be alone for this. Don't you get that?"

"Jack..."

His tone turned playful. "Unless there's something there you don't want to see. Oh, I know. Ex-girlfriend who still has the hots for you? Don't tell me you still have a thing for _her_ , huh?"

For a recent convert to active homosexuality, Jack seemed to find the concept amusing. I didn't. A memory of Sarah flashed before me, from our final fight as a couple. She threw papers at me, spilled coffee and stormed out. Her blonde curls barely missed being caught in the door she slammed. "Her name is Sarah, but no, she's not the reason."

"Will the wonders never cease," he marveled, and I didn't really want to know where that tidbit of information was going. I was very well aware that his ex-wife's name was Sara, sans the 'h'. I found that oddly comforting the first time I learned the details of Jack's former life. Having ex-lovers by the same name gave us something else in common beside defeating Ra. "Okay, so what is it? What's so horrible that you feel this need to protect me from it?"

"It's just... I'll be okay. I'm only going for the day." And that sounded lame.

"Right. Hammond said you could take as much time as you need, remember? So, we go to the funeral, we both pay our respects to the recently departed, and then we're off to see the sights together. Chicago's an old haunt, and while it doesn't exactly have the charms of Minnesota, we can still check them out again." He gave me a grin. "Our first official vacation as a couple."

My heart twisted. "Jack, I say again, I'm going to a funeral. There are _no_ sights to see."

"I heard you the first time, and sure there are," he said, and the underlying truth of the entire venture came forth. "A bunch of tweed-jacketed dweebs with pocket protectors and a debt to pay."

I let out a sigh. A quick fantasy ran through my mind. Jack at my side, dressed to the nines in his dress uniform and his cap shadowing his dark eyes as he glowered at everyone. If anyone approached to speak with me, he'd silently dare them to even utter a word. Anywhere else, I would have loved to watch him intimidate them, but Dr. Jordan deserved much more respect than that.

"And that's exactly why I don't want you there!"

He pulled back at my blurted words, a shocked look on his face. "You don't want me there?"

"Don't make it sound like that, Jack," I said, too quickly even for my own liking. I turned to face him, but he was already retreating across the room. "I know as well as you do that you'll have a horrible time."

"It's a funeral. I'm not expecting Disneyland or three-ringed circuses, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, your least favorite species of humans are there. A gathering of scientists, remember?"

"Hey, you're the one who shoved my face into the fact that they're academics, not merely scientists," he shot back, but we both knew it was flimsy. Jack made his discomfort to my status very vocal in our early days, and he did a similar thing to Sam when they first met. We wore through his defenses, but each time we're paired with a scientific team, I can see how flustered he gets. I think it's the complex words that Sam tends to excel at, or the speed I've been accused of blustering past people. Or more succinctly, it's the fact we don't give him solid answers during our hypothesizing. That drives him fruity.

"Look at it this way. You never got along with Robert. I _heard_ you say with my own ears that he couldn't figure out an ashtray. He's one of the few people - oh, hell, probably the _only_ person I used to know who'd have something to do with me after all this. And _you_ couldn't stand him!" And you shot him when he was infested with a Goa'uld. The unvoiced accusation still colored my words.

"He was a geek," Jack answered, as though the word gave him complete justification. But from where he was leaning against the doorframe, he was trying to convey his apology. I knew the story, from Sam, Teal'c and Jack's multiple retellings in the days after P3X888, but I still had unanswered questions. Was it necessary to kill Robert? My friends were split on the issue. Their words were the confident affirmatives of the military, but the sorrow in their eyes said they really weren't sure.

But nevertheless, "geek" still rubs me the wrong way.

"Well, guess what?" I snapped. "I'm going to an assembly of them. Do the math, flyboy!"

"Already done, and I think I can assume that these are a pretty pestilent version of them. These are the geeks who watched you go down in flames and enjoyed the show." He was riled, and trying not to show it. "Tell me with a straight face that I shouldn't take offence to that!"

"Well, it was my own damned fault!" I said. I dragged my bag from the dresser back to the bed. I was quickly getting bored of the conversation, and I just wanted to finish packing in solitude. "I should have left well enough alone. I had a good job, grants, friends -"

"Bullshit," he snarled. "You just said so yourself. Friends don't sever your lifeline and toss you to the wolves. These morons still think you're completely off your rocker."

"Don't you think I want to set them straight?" I demanded. I wanted to shout, but kept my voice to a tense but quiet level. I hate secrets, and the need for them. I always wonder if being a participant in the classified Stargate program meant that I was compromising my morals. These days, I didn't even want to consider the answer. "I'd love to go there and shove a few MALP films at Sarah and Stephen and say, 'Look at this!' But I can't, and there's no damned point."

"Who the hell's Stephen?" he cut in. His eyes narrowed, and I had no doubt he was adding a new name to his list.

"An idiot I used to work with, and who's undoubtedly going to be at the funeral."

"One more great mind to bring to new lows," he said. I could see a dark glitter in his eyes that scared me. A moment, the look disappeared and he straightened up. "You've made up your mind?"

I met his gaze head on. I wasn't sure where this was leading. "I'm positive."

"All right." He looked at me for another few moments, then shook his head. "Drive your own ass to the airport."

What?

I blinked, and stared at his suddenly retreating back. I couldn't believe he was leaving. I hurried after him. "Jack!"

" _Bon voyage_ , Daniel!" came the sarcastic reply, moments before he slammed the front door behind him.

An excellent start to my adventure. I called a taxi and left Colorado Springs with a heavy heart.

I didn't make it back home the next day. Suspicions arose over the nature of Dr. Jordan's death, and I found myself embroiled in mystery. I was off on a wild-goose chase, trying to solve the murky truths behind the Isis jar and the Osiris Tomb. It was a situation where I needed my team and their skills to back me up. I was out of my depth.

Only Sam could come to my aid. Jack was on vacation, off to Minnesota with a reluctant Teal'c in tow. Sam said they'd left only hours after my departure. I tried to contact them, and only got Teal'c's help on a tricky translation. When I called back later, to get them to meet the Air Force plane at the nearest airport, I couldn't get through.

Jack had turned it off. I later learned the battery sat hidden beneath a shrub for the rest of their stay.

He wasn't there when I needed him.

When they got back, I know General Hammond chewed him out thoroughly. At the time, I didn't care. I'd finally collapsed after making sure Stephen wouldn't die from Osiris' attack. Sam had taken me home to recover, and that's where Jack found me. I was passed out on my bed, with a migraine making my life miserable and a pain in my heart from losing Sarah.

He held me, and in the silent hours that followed, he asked for my forgiveness in so many ways. He pressed kisses to my face, especially gentle with the burn on my forehead. I woke up cradled against him, my head cushioned on his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around me.

I tried to absolve him of his guilt, but my own culpability lingered on.

* * *

Four weeks went by.

We were busy, with missions to finish and Goa'ulds to usurp. Apophis' latest rise to power meant that the Tok'ra had us on our toes even more than usual. We spent most nights on base or off-world, and Jack and I eased into a comfortable routine. We were more friends than lovers during that time, but on the few evenings we could get away, we didn't do much other than have sex and sleep in each other's arms.

Chicago, Osiris and Minnesota rarely came up in our conversations. We left it that way. I was still recovering from Egypt, and how I felt Jack had betrayed me. Jack's own thoughts had slipped now and again, and he made it clear he was equally upset with me over going to Chicago. His face tensed into a stone mask each time the topic came up, but I think it was more than my refusal of his company. I know so. Teal'c told me how Jack's entire demeanor had changed from cocky to surprised to reproachful when he heard about what had occurred during his absence. He took the first chance he had to get over to my apartment.

We needed time to talk, and I sensed it wasn't going to happen until things calmed down. And while they had, we really weren't going to have the opportunity just yet.

I wasn't exactly thrilled with my latest orders. Well, technically, they weren't orders since I'm a civilian and General Hammond knows I tend to balk at being treated like a soldier. He gives me my orders in his own unique way, as a personal request. I couldn't turn him down. SG-1 was on stand down as long as Teal'c was in the infirmary, and even Junior wasn't enough to get him out quick. We were looking at a week of unstructured time, and Hammond wanted to take advantage of it.

And did he _ever_ take advantage. We were going to be busy little beavers.

Jack would be off training new SG teams, Sam was working on her latest project and therefore to be undisturbed, and I was getting ready to head to New York City on a mission. To seek out new recruits for the SGC's scientific departments. I think I'd be happier facing a firing squad. Dr. Jordan's funeral a month ago was bad enough. I wasn't expecting a nice reception in Chicago, but now... I would give anything to be out in the woods with Jack, covered with camo and dirt and ducking from a paint gun.

Did I actually write that?

Jack wasn't exactly thrilled with my plans, either. Déjà vu and big surprise. Then again, he wasn't exactly dancing for joy at his own assignment. He met me at my apartment and barged in with a bellow.

"This so isn't fair! It's a conspiracy!"

"Nice to see you, too!" I called from my bedroom. I wandered out to greet him. He dumped his jacket and met me with a flourish of kisses to my cheeks and mouth that left me laughing.

"Hey," he growled when he pulled back. He grinned, and started to explore my neck with his lips. Re-reconnoitering. He has his own personal map. "Did you hear what Hammond's dumped me with for the week?"

"Oh, I think the topic came up during our discussion," I said, letting a gasp out now and again. He was concentrating on my sensitive spots, especially the one near my pulse-point. "Training, isn't it?"

"Two four-man teams of wet behind the ears kids who think Star Wars is a movie and never used a record player," he moaned. He stopped and put his head on my shoulder. "I hate my life. It's like Hammond's getting back at me for all those times he let us get away with bloody murder."

"Or the sarcasm, the tasteless remarks, the -" I yelped as in one motion, Jack pulled up my shirt and put his hand on my stomach. "That tickles!"

"Oh, did I do that?" he smirked. "I have an idea. Come play commando with me in the bush. We can brush up on a few of your basic drills for old time's sake. "

"Very tempting," I agreed. I'd sooner drink decaf than let him know I shared those thoughts when Hammond uttered my fate with the travel plans. "I mean, it's not as if I don't do enough of that at work."

"Ah, this will be a walk at the beach," he grinned.

"Right, with no water and a lot of trees," I said. Jack was moving his hand again gently across my abdomen. This time he was careful with what he was doing and I sighed at the caress. "But my plans are already made."

"I figured so." He was silent for a moment, and his hand traveled up to my chest. "Where are you going this time?"

"New York."

"I haven't been there since 1969," he joked. "When do you leave?"

"Tonight at six."

He rested his chin on my shoulder. His hand kept up the motions, but began to feel restless. "We should get you packed."

"I've already started," I said as I started to pull away from his grasp. His hands reached for me, and caught me at the hips. I turned to face him and gave him a smile. I didn't like the look in his eye, but he quickly realized I could see that glint of dissatisfaction. A moment later, I saw the impulsive spark again that usually resides into those brown eyes. "I'd love more coffee. Could you throw on a new pot?"

A reluctant smile twitched one corner of his thin lips. "And now I know my true importance in your life. You love me for my coffee, not my body."

"Wrong again. It's your brain that's truly attractive," I teased and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"You're an unique man, Danny boy," he said, patting my butt before heading to the kitchen. "Most people prefer the feet or something normal, but your real fetish is gray matter. That's disturbing. Have you sought medical help?"

I called back at him on my way back to the bedroom. "Yeah, and the doctor already recommended a cure! You're to screw my brains out repeatedly."

"I like challenges!"

Jack wandered in several minutes later and flopped himself onto my bed. I had the suitcase open and halfway full. It slammed shut the moment he landed. Jack let out a laugh and I gave him a glare as I reopened it. I turned my back for just a moment to reach for a few shirts. When I went to place them in the suitcase, I realized my boxers were disordered and my favorite pair was missing.

"How's this look?" Jack shook them out with a flourish and put the waistband around his head. He grinned as the plaid material settled into place. The fly was open on his forehead, and the legs cascaded down just above his shoulders. "Calvin Klein, pharaoh of fashion."

"Bad," was my only comment. I reached for my shorts, but he pulled away.

"Hey, I'm decorating the brain you find so attractive," he protested. He tried to brush one pant leg behind his shoulder, but the elastic slipped up. A large tuft of gray hair poked up. "They say half the arousal is in the brain, right? So, what do you think, Daniel? Wanna fuck like an Egyptian?"

"Jack!" I groaned. "You look like an idiot."

"I'm _your_ idiot, so come kree with me, baby!" he crooned. The look he gave me might have been a leer under different circumstances, but the boxers spoiled the moment. "Put the packing aside and come explore my pyramid. I don't let just any archaeologist excavate my jewels."

"You're a pain in the Tut," I said, snatching the boxers away. The resulting spiking of his hair was cute, and he just looked so satisfied with himself. He lay perfectly unaware of what lay in wait for him. "Maybe when I'm done packing I can do a detailed survey of this aged structure."

"Hey!" He bolted upright, sputtering. The suitcase fell shut again, and came just short of catching my fingers. "That's playing dirty, Daniel."

"And you expect something else from someone who makes a career of rocks and dirt?" I asked, checking the hand for damage just in case. I fluttered my lashes at him as he glowered. "That's a complement, Jack."

"Right," he said, not too convinced. He lay back against the pillows and watched me work. "So what's in New York?"

"Hammond didn't say?" I went to the closet to take out some slacks.

"Not really," he said, tossing a pair of socks in the air. "He mentioned something about all the universities over there, but not much else. So why are you going to be traipsing around New York with a bagel in hand while I'm covered with mud and gunk in the deepest, darkest woods?"

"You realize I have to wear those, right?"

He aimed them at me and they bounced off my shoulder. "Have 'em."

"Thanks," I muttered, putting the socks and their matches in the suitcase. I folded my pants for several moments before speaking. "General Hammond wants me to go to New York and see if there's anyone we might be interested in acquiring for the SGC."

"The way you did with Rothman?" he asked.

"Not quite," I said, and that was true. Robert and I had kept in touch infrequently since my swan song. It took him months to reply to my first message after coming back from Abydos, but at some point after we returned from our POW stint on Hathor's world, he told me he was looking for work. Coincidentally, I needed a new staff member, and a security check later, Robert was at the SGC. I doubted I'd have that easy luck again. "I'll actually have to work at it this time."

"That sounds like fun. Let's trade. You take the grunts into the woods and play drill sergeant, and I'll go do the scouting," he suggested, and he actually seemed to like the idea. "I bet it'll be just like scouting for baseball."

"Or not," I shot back.

"Nuts."

We fell silent as I finished with my packing. I tucked a few sweaters just in case. I checked the clock once the suitcase was zippered shut. There was plenty of time before I needed to be at the airport. I set the bag down on the floor and settled down next to Jack. We lay next to each other, our shoulders touching. A moment later, Jack turned on his side to look at me. He just stared, as though searching for something.

"What?" I asked. I gave him a smile, but the look made me nervous. It was like he was assessing something.

"Daniel, you're only going to New York to recruit, right?"

"Yeah, why?" That was the basic idea. It was true I had a few personal matters to take care of while over there. I had warmer memories of New York than I did of Chicago, and I did plan to enjoy myself a little more. What I really wanted to do was visit Robert's grave and my last respects to my friend. At the time of his funeral, I was confined to the infirmary and nothing could move Janet Fraiser's well-meaning but determined heart.

Jack moved his hand to brush the hair from my forehead. He did it gently, the fingers moving across the skin where the burn used to be. "No plans to go Goa'uld busting?"

"God, I hope not!" My eyes squeezed shut as the memory of our confrontation with Osiris played before me. Sarah, as trapped as Sha're once was, staring at me with an unfamiliar sneer disfiguring her face. Stephen lay near me, unconscious and close to death. Sam and Janet were crumpled at the far wall, and the only thing standing between Osiris and his escape was me. Why wasn't Jack there?

"Daniel!" A firm warmth pressed against my cheek. I opened my eyes to find Jack's hand trying to keep me rooted in reality. "Easy, there. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, my throat suddenly dry. "Just..."

"I know," he said. He grasped my arm, getting me to roll over into his grasp. I settled against his side, one leg between his. I rested my head against his shoulder, and the comforting weight of his arm lay across my back. "I'm sorry."

I was silent for a few moments. My fingers traced the pattern in his shirt. "I already said that I forgave you."

"Doesn't stop me from deserving to have my ass kicked," he muttered. He suddenly pulled me against him. My face was pressed into his neck, making my glasses go askew. I don't think he knew what he was doing. I adjusted my head and returned the grasp's intensity. "I nearly lost you. If you hadn't been quick on your feet..."

He stopped and pressed his lips firmly against my head. I could feel his breaths moving warmly through my hair. I know he's scared of losing me; he's admitted it enough times even when we were just friends. We've both lost a lot in our lives, and as much as we've loved those in times past, there's something different about this now. I mean, I loved Sha're - I still do even though she's been dead for two years - but I survived that loss. If Jack died, or if I did...

I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to tempt fate into even considering the possibility. Our jobs meant that tomorrow might be the day, but I didn't want to entertain the thought more than I had to.

"Jack..."

"Are you sure you don't need an escort?" he joked. He was trying to diffuse the emotion with humor, but the effort was halfhearted. He wanted to spare himself the fright I know he had when he heard that I was injured. "Everyone can use a tough, handsome and incredibly sexy colonel now and again. Right? It could add that level of authority you'll need."

"I think I can handle my assignment just fine, thank you," I said, finally pulling out of his grip so I could meet his gaze. He was really nervous. He gave me a little smile that was almost half-hearted. I leaned forward to press my lips against his and ran my hand down his cheek. "I'll be all right."

When I pulled back, his dark eyes were still haunted. "You'd better be. I mean it, Daniel, if something even looks fishy, I want you to call me. Weird shit happens around you. Just call. I don't want you running off on your own."

"Like I actually would?" I demanded in self-defense. The biting words clamored for release on my tongue. _You_ were the one who left me on my own when I really needed help! I bit down, looked away and tried to think of something less confrontational to say. "You'll have your cell?"

He nodded. Whether he noticed my pause, I'm not entirely sure. I think the topic was already on his mind anyway. "Yeah, I'll have it on in the car, and I promise it'll actually work this time. If I'm in the field, just call Hammond or Carter and they'll send for me."

"I will."

"Good," he said. He caught my chin and made me look at him again. "I just wish I understood why it happened in the first place."

My eyes narrowed. "Why what happened?"

"What it is about me that made you so embarrassed that you didn't want me going with you to Chicago." There, he'd said it. He also looked very nervous at what my answer might be. "I admit it, I was wrong to get so angry, but... Dammit, Daniel! I _love_ you, and the fact those people hurt you when they should have been supporting you? Call me hypocritical, but dammit, they just piss me off."

His words caught me off-guard. _This_ conversation I didn't expect to have. I took a deep breath, uttered a prayer to whatever deity of patience there might be that neither of us would lose our temper this time, and dove in.

"I didn't want a scene," I said. "I mean, a bigger scene than there already was just by my being there. I just... A funeral wasn't the place to have it out with them, and Dr. Jordan just wouldn't have wanted that. He did deserve respect."

"Okay, I understand that," he answered. "You know I'm capable of restraint. I didn't necessarily have to chew them out on first sight. I mean, I had to size them up first and see if there were any visible weak points. Give me more credit than that."

I let out a soft laugh. "Very true. Jack, the point is that I wanted to be bigger than them. I don't need their approval to validate my life and what I've done with it. Getting even might have been satisfying, but only on a very basic level."

"Validate, huh?" Jack reached out to ruffle my hair. "Dare I ask where your official stamp of approval comes from, then?"

I really laughed that time and ducked from the offending hand. "Oh, don't give yourself too much credit, flyboy."

"You wound me! Come on, Danny boy, give me that lily-white civvy ass of yours and let's see about validating it," he leered, and finally, the twinkle was back in his eyes.

I wiggled around until I was perched over his waist. I put one hand on each of his shoulders and grinned down at him. "In your dreams."

"Well, since you figure in them quite prominently..." he said in a very suggestive tone. The leer was still fixed firmly in place. I couldn't just leave it there. I leaned down again and did my best to get rid of it. This kiss was deeper and far more reassuring than the last one. I held on until the lack of oxygen made me want to tumble off my perch. The smile left on Jack's lips was far more pleasant. "So, what are you going to bring back for me?"

The request came out of left field. I stopped trying to get my breath back and gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. Shopping for him? I liked the idea. Every once in a while, I'd done it for past lovers. Sha're was the easiest to please, which was one thing that was just so wonderful about her. Sarah and my other partners in times past were usually going with me to whatever the destination might have been, and that made gift-buying concept more difficult. But Jack?

I love challenges. I looked at him the way I would consider a strange-looking artifact or a tricky translation. It makes him squirm. If he squirmed enough, the answer would be given up.

"What?" he asked, lifting his own eyebrow in turn.

"Anything in particular that you're looking for?" I asked.

"Hell, yeah," he said, a grin dimpling his cheeks. "All I could ever possibly ask for are business cards."

"Uh, okay..." I smelled a rat. My hands went to his collar, my fingers twisting in the material. I tugged him toward me, letting my voice get a sing-song tone to it. "Jack, what do you have up that devious little sleeve of yours?"

"Easy, big guy," he laughed. His hands ran down my sides as though soothing me. I didn't want to smirk, but I did find that funny. "You're _way_ too  
suspicious."

"No, I just know you too well." I tugged again. "Talk, flyboy."

He covered my hands, bringing them to his lips. His dark eyes fixed on mine and he actually grinned. His smile stretched almost from ear to ear. "Bring me the business cards of everyone you meet who dissed you back then. That's all I ask."

"Why?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. I did like the way he kissed every knuckle as he spoke.

"Their email addresses will be on there," he said. He didn't seem to want to admit anymore. I gave him a look. He sighed. "I know a somebody. He owes me a few things."

"Jack!" I exclaimed. "You are _not_ putting a hit on my ex-colleagues!"

"Did I say that?" he demanded. "No, I didn't. I'm going to do something even better. This guy, he can do _cool_ things with computers. I'll let him play. Maybe he'll send them a harmless little virus, or maybe he'll email bomb them."

"That is so juvenile!"

"I know," he said, "but I love you."

I gave a joyful cry of disgust. I suppose that isn't really a good substitute for "I love you, too," but the kiss I slammed on his lips might have been. I can't help but love him. His ideas are strange, oftentimes downright bizarre, but the sentiment behind them touches my heart. Of course, the fact that he didn't blame me for trying to suffocate him with the kiss says a lot, too, but he got his own revenge by doing the same.

Not that he could make a case of it, of course. It's not like there's a court that would actually convict me...

* * *

I planned on planting a solid kiss on Janet Fraiser's lips when I got home. I knew Jack would have something loud and rude to say about it, but for this, he'd have to bite his tongue. My allergies tend to flare when I travel and give me real misery, and as a result, I only fly when I have to. On my first return from Chicago, Janet noticed I was snuffling and deduced it was time for a new antihistamine. I'd barely sneezed since then. The next time I end up in the infirmary for any duration, I'll have to be extra patient... or be sure that I'm holding Jack down the next time he needs a shot.

I felt great coming home from New York, and it was more than just having clear sinuses.

New York was refreshingly _normal_.

The lack of conspiracies, mysterious doings and an absence of Goa'uld-inflicted havoc were the most important parts of it. My trip went well with no delays, the weather was incredible, and I even came home with some new additions to my library. I'd made some real progress in keeping an eye out for potential recruits for the linguistic and archaeological department at the SGC. I even managed to mend one or two fences when I ran into some former associates. The beauty of having dropped out of sight for five years was that some parts of my reputation were beginning to fade into obscurity.

Some, but not all. There were a few occasions when I walked out of offices with my tail between my legs. The horrible memory of rejection wasn't one I love to revisit, and I was ever so tempted to get those cards Jack wanted. I managed to resist the temptation. There were better things to focus my energy on besides my tattered reputation, so instead of those cards, I looked for something else to buy for Jack. The only thing that would pack well was a hockey jersey, and while I know New York isn't Jack's favorite team, it would replace the ragged one he wore occasionally at home.

There's nothing like a tongue-in-cheek gift, especially when it was my tongue that would be residing in his cheek...

I had plenty of things to occupy myself with between appointments. I visited Robert's memorial. His grave was on P3X888, but even without a body to bury, his family still wanted a headstone. I humored myself by thinking he'd rather be back on Earth instead of an alien world, but I guess I would never know. I tried to work though some of the grief and guilt I felt about contributing to his fate. Jack and I had been through this before: it wasn't my fault he went with SG-1 after the Unas who'd taken a liking to me, but if I hadn't brought him into the program, he never would have been Goa'ulded in the first place.

I really did miss him. In many ways, he was probably my one true ally in the SGC. Even calling him that isn't right. As close as I am to Sam, Teal'c and especially Jack, only Robert shared my concerns as a civilian in a military operation. He understood me in ways my teammates still have trouble comprehending. Neither of us liked the expectation of blind obedience required in the ranks, and we rankled with academic indignation when we couldn't get the permission we needed to investigate something. Our main difference is that I managed to deal with the challenges and I found a way to work around them to my own advantage. Robert unfortunately never really had the chance to stay long enough to find his niche.

I remembered him by visiting the places we used to frequent in grad school. Most of the cafes were gone, but I found one stalwart coffee shop that wasn't too far from campus. I spent the first morning in New York sitting at a counter, watching the crowds go by. Our favorite bookstore across the street was still in business. We used to wander through the aisles, planning which books we wanted when we finally found some hard-earned money. I felt Robert's presence throughout my sojourn, and the knot of grief in my chest started to subside.

I wanted to share these memories with Jack, but I wasn't too sure what he'd say even if he'd been able to come. It wasn't a surprise that Jack didn't like Robert. While he tolerates Sam and me in our scientific modes, that same amnesty from his dislike unfortunately didn't hold for Robert. He did have a grudging respect for the man, though, simply because Robert was my friend. The way he told me about Robert's death reflected that basic respect. Jack said that while he wasn't sure exactly when Robert became infested, his concern throughout the search was placed on finding me. Even with a Goa'uld, he was worried for me. That meant something, and despite all the unanswered questions about the mission, I held onto that knowledge.

Jack would have liked the bookstore, though I'm sure he would have groaned and whined the entire time. The coffee shop would have met his approval. Seeing the neighborhoods where I used to live might have been interesting, but it's no secret what he'd be more interested in doing in New York: geek baiting.

I still don't like the term, as accurate as it may be.

As justified as I was for refusing his presence, I did miss Jack. The jibes aimed my way weren't as personal in their intent as the ones Stephen tossed out in Chicago. The insults weren't nearly as creative, either, since no one bothered to mention aliens in New York. But it was clear that to some of these people, I remained an academic leper to be avoided at all costs. I might tarnish their careers or bring doom to their grants.

If only.

Jack would have gone for blood the very second someone looked down their nose at me. That wouldn't have been pretty, so I guess it was a good thing the latest recruits in Colorado were the ones being subjected to the force that is Colonel Jack O'Neill. Letting him loose on my unsuspecting ex-colleagues would have been tempting an actual force of nature, because a rabid colonel cannot be kept at bay.

I missed him.

We talked several times during my trip. Almost every time I called, the cell was picked up promptly; the one exception he picked up after the fifth ring, out of breath after running from the bathroom. We never could talk for very long, but we shared our frustrations. I was moderately pleased with my progress, and he wasn't too enthusiastic about the team he was training. He also said the house was too empty, which sent a little shiver through me.

"I can't wait for you to get home, Danny boy," he teased the night before I went back, with the tone that said he had way too much time on his hands lately. I should have known then to be afraid. These are the thoughts that get people dragged off to go fishing. "Do I ever have a surprise for you!"

It did sound promising. I had one more appointment that last morning, and by the time I boarded my afternoon flight for the six-odd hours journey back home, I was pretty tired. But by the time the lights of Colorado Springs appeared beneath the planet, I was grinning in anticipation. The elderly lady next to me chuckled as the pilots began the descent.

"I hope she's as excited to see you as you are to see her," she said knowingly, and patted my arm. I don't why that happens to me. I smiled at her words, and I grinned when she leaned back with a longing sigh. "Young love is so exciting. I wish I had the stamina to go after a cutie like you."

We arrived early, coming in at 1900 instead of the expected 1930. I wasn't surprised when I didn't see Jack anywhere amid the waiting crowds. He didn't show up until I finally located my luggage on the carousel. He breezed in and had a double-take when he saw me. He glanced at his watch, frowning, then shrugged as he came over.

"My plane was early," I explained, shouldering my carry-on.

"Ah," he said eloquently. He smiled, grabbing my luggage and hefted it. We didn't say much else until we were at his truck. He unlocked the door, then pressed an envelope in my hand before dealing with the bags.

"What's this?" I asked.

He gave me an enigmatic smile, but didn't utter a word. He whistled as he walked to the other side of the vehicle. I raised my eyebrows. Odd. I got into the truck, and after getting comfortable, I looked at the envelope. My name was on the front, written in Jack's characteristic script... in French, complete with salutation.

That was... different.

The front of the card had a little man dressed in a red and white striped shirt, black pants and beret. He sat at a lonely table on a supposed Parisian street. A glass of wine sat on the table, ignored as the little man started out past the card.

And on the inside, otherwise blank, were the word: "I missed you. _Je t'aime_. Jacques."

Jack got in and started the engine. I frowned and looked at him. He was trying to keep his attention on the truck, but his dark eyes kept darting over to glance at me. When he caught sight of my perplexed look, he smirked. Whatever was up, the sparkle in his eye suggested that he had something fanciful planned.

"Jack?" I asked, hoping for enlightenment. "What's up?"

"No, no," he tsked, and I cringed at the heavy French accent he was _trying_ to put on. I emphasize the trying. I've been subjected to his unforgivably bad Irish brogue too many times before, and this wasn't much better. "Call me Jacques."

"Right..."

" _Et c'est un surpris_ , Daniel," he continued as we started to leave the parking lot. He never elaborated about this surprise. He spent most of the drive chattering away in character. Whatever he had planned, he was really enjoying the build-up. He smiled enigmatically each time he looked my way, and by the time he pulled up in front of his house, I still didn't have a clue about what he had up his sleeve.

I could smell something really good cooking when Jack let us into the front hall. My stomach gurgled loudly in appreciative anticipation. Jack's not exactly well known for his cooking talents outside of the grilling area, but he's made me some wonderful meals over the course of our friendship. That also has the added bonus of a sweaty Jack laboring in the kitchen, which is a definite turn-on.

I started toeing off my shoes, inhaling that scent as though it were actual food. I opened my mouth to comment on it when strong arms and a warm mouth stole the half-formed words. I forgot what I was going to say. I even forgot how to talk as the kiss consumed me.

" _Bonjour_..." he purred into my mouth. He pulled back, nudging my lips. One arm rested around my waist, and the other held my jaw. His fingers played with the hair behind my ear.

I smiled under his caresses and panted softly in an effort to catch my breath. "Hello."

"How was the flight?" he asked, still occupied with his mouth and totally in character. His lips found their way beneath my jaw, kissing and tasting the skin. I winced at the occasional nip.

"Can't complain too much," I said. My own hands were roaming down the wide expanse of his back. I started tugging at the shirt where it bunched above his belt. "I think I would have preferred it with company, though."

"I told you so." He moved to peck my lips one last time before dancing out of my arms. He kicked off his shoes and readjusted his shirt, all the while giving me a chiding look. "No playing yet, Daniel. You're eating first."

"I could eat in bed..." I said suggestively and fluttered my lashes at him. Now that he was before me, and after that kiss, I wanted more contact.

He snorted and brushed by me. "Would you like some wine?"

"Sure." I followed him, intent on working on my pouting powers and seeing how much leeway I could get. I wasn't that hungry.

He thrust a hastily poured glass of red wine into my hands before I could pass the kitchen's threshold. "Out!" Jacques grinned as he steered me around and back toward the living room. "Go relax. Dinner shall be served shortly."

I tried to look back for a glimpse of the elusive menu. I couldn't actually make anything out just by the scent, as wonderful as it was. "What are we having?"

"You'll see," he said. He pecked my cheek. "I brought the mail from your apartment. There's a magazine or two in there. Read it and stay out, _mon cheri_."

 _Mon cheri?_ I froze in shock. Okay, the French didn't really have me shocked. There's a lot more to Jack than the dumb Colonel act he inexplicably indulges himself with, and that sometimes includes knowledge that comes right out of the blue. I figured he probably picked up the French during his tours of duty with the Air Force, or maybe even with the Foreign Service or something. Unfortunately, I later found out that was classified. But to hear Jack throwing French endearments my way was more than a little... surreal.

I hoped to God he wouldn't start calling me _singe spatial_. Ugh.

I finally started wandering around the living room. I spotted my mail sitting next to the chess board, so I took my customary seat on the couch. I sipped the wine before starting to sort thought the letters. Most of them were bills. I flipped through them, frowning at the return addresses, but something distracted me. The room looked slightly different. I glanced around the room to see what Jack had changed.

Everything looked formal. The curtains were closed, and there were candles placed strategically around the room. A few were lit, and they cast soft shadows around the otherwise normal room. I craned my neck so I could see the dining room, and I spotted what must have been his good cutlery and even more candles decorating the table. At Jack's house, we usually have pizza nights and pot roasts, so this surprise of his had me suitably impressed.

And curious. I wondered if he had a strange seduction planned.

I inhaled again, determined to figure out what the food might be. I'm not as knowledgeable about French food as I might be about other things, but I had some vague ideas about what Jack might serve. At least, I assumed it would be French if Jack's accent was anything to go by. I could probably expect cheese, baguette, maybe some consommé? I didn't really expect to see something like escargot, since Jack was squeamish enough with the slugs he tossed out of his flower beds.

He called me to the table twenty minutes later, and by that time, I was starved. I rushed over, taking my customary seat. The table looked beautiful. The candles were lit, and the opened bottle of wine sat nearby. _Mouton Cadet_. Not bad. I could hear music coming from the stereo, faintly recognizable as Chopin as it drifted past us. Jack was moving covered dishes to the table, looking smug and...

When did he pencil in that ridiculous moustache on his upper lip? Or put on that little red beret resting precariously over his gray hair. I couldn't take my eyes off it, even when he smiled at me and refilled my wine glass.

"Have I told you lately that you're a strange man, Jack O'Neill?"

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. " _Merci_."

Jacques started to remove the lids with a careful flourish. I was close with my guesses, since I could see Brie and some sliced baguette. I wondered if Jack would try some of that. He usually condemns anything that isn't cheddar, though I've managed to get some Gouda down his gullet a few times. Brie might be a challenge, and I could pretty well guess he wouldn't eat the rind.

"What do you think?" he asked, pausing for a few moments to sip his own wine.

"Very nice," I encouraged. I was feeling antsy at the display. I really wanted to eat.

He beamed at my commentary and uncovered the rest of the meal. I recognized pâté resting next to some crackers, but it was the last two dishes that caught my surprise. I stared at them for a few moments, then looked up at Jack.

I should have guessed.

"French fries and French toast?" I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Was I supposed to laugh? I wasn't sure. Sometimes when I think Jack isn't being serious, he actually is. I decided to play it safe. I hid my face behind my glass, with the pretense of taking a sip. The wine sloshed into my mouth, the sharp burning at the back of my throat a little harsher than I expected. I coughed.

" _Oui_." He really seemed pleased with himself. I was amused at how he was staying in character, and I was tempted to keep track of how long that would last.

Well, it wasn't what I was expecting. I cast a look I hoped wasn't too dubious over the food, then gave him a big smile. "It looks delicious."

"Try some." He didn't even give me a chance to serve myself. He started loading my plate with toast. He actually hummed as he sprinkled cinnamon and sugar over the crispy surface, way more than I would have done. " _Tu dois manger, mon p'tit chou_."

I was doing fine up until then. An eccentric menu I could handle, but when he uttered those words, I nearly decorated the tablecloth by spewing out wine. "What did you just call me?"

"Nothing," he teased. Butter would melt in his mouth. He reached for the Brie and pâté. "All I said is that you need to eat."

I glared at him. Jack says that when I squint up over the rim of my glasses, I look scary. Apparently not, based on the way he laughed. I wasn't asking too much. I just wanted to make sure my ears weren't betraying me. "Say it again."

He let out a little exasperated sigh. "I called you _mon p'tit chou_. Problem?"

"I just wasn't sure if I heard you correctly," I said quickly. Something strange was happening with my lips. There was a sappy smile trying to claim its territory, and I was losing the battle. Jack calling me "little cabbage" was like the time Sha're teased me with _he-reya_ \- the pup of a desert fox. I still don't really get that one... "This looks great, Jack."

"Jacques," he corrected, starting to pick food for his own plate.

We settled down across from each other. I dug in, trying to take the edge off my hunger. As strange as the menu might have been, everything tasted good. Whenever I glanced at Jack, he was picking at his fries, or munching on the pâté. I frowned at him, then pushed the cheese at him.

"Try it. It's good." I used one of the slices he'd cut earlier and slathered it over the baguette. The Brie's creamy interior spread further than the white rind. I took a big bite, closing my eyes at the flavor. "Really good."

"Looks like you're eating chocolate," he muttered around his fries. He otherwise pointedly ignored the Brie.

I ignored that. "So, dare I ask how the last of the training went?"

"Oh, you don't want to know." For this, he slipped back into his normal accent. "It didn't get much better. They're probably nursing their bruised butts back on base, waiting for the results to come in."

"That bad, huh?"

He snorted. "We did a few drills, you know, the usual stuff. Totally disorganized. I keep on wondering what the hell kind of standards they're using these days at the Academy. I mean, you followed ordered better than they did on Abydos the first time."

"You're exaggerating," I protested.

"No way. You blew away those Jaffa in a manner that would make those recruits jealous," he said, getting into it. "God help us when the new SG teams start. I so don't want them watching our six."

"It can't be that bad."

"You weren't there to see them shoot themselves," he retorted. "No offense, Daniel, but I trusted you at your worst to back me up. Them? Forget it!"

"Thanks, I think..." I didn't believe him. Jack isn't too big for hyperboles. I would never forget those months of extensive training and torture Jack put me through in the early days of SG-1. I usually was nursing bruises and strains after the weekends when Jack would drag all four of us out for training in the woods. The rest of my team would be fine, and I would come out looking like I'd spent a month lost in the bush. That definitely wasn't numbered among my prouder moments. "But I had a good teacher."

He grinned. "You bet your sweet petunias!"

My Jack doesn't have ego problems. Not at all.

"So?" He watched me carefully. "Final analysis of your reconnaissance mission?"

I shrugged, reaching for my wine. "I don't know."

"I doubt that's what you're thinking."

I cursed him for knowing me too well. "We might get something out of it, I can't say for sure."

The topic was dropped. For now.

Once my toast was gone, I decided to give the fries a chance. As golden and beautiful as they were, they needed more. There was ketchup sitting next to Jack's elbow, but I was craving something creamier. Jack was busily munching on his own, so I decided to run my own errand.

"Daniel?" Jack was back into Jacques mode. He shoved in a few last fries then pushed himself away from the table. He beat me to the fridge. "What do you need?"

"I'm fine," I said, leaning down so I could peer inside. I could see Jack out of the corner of my eye, leaning on the fridge door as he tried to figure out what I was doing. "Just give me a sec..."

"Are you sure?" He was definitely hovering.

My fingers found what I needed a few moments later. "Go eat. Everything's fine."

His eyes fixed on my prize, and he screwed up his nose in disgust. "Mayonnaise?"

"Yup!"

"We're not eating sandwiches," he accused, following me all the way back to the table. "What do you need mayonnaise for?"

"You'll see," I said. I smiled enigmatically as I settled down, unscrewing the lid. Jacques was practically leaning over my shoulder, eyeing my movements with suspicious disapproval. I heard him make a strained and disgusted noise when I started to spoon out a gloop of mayo onto my fries.

"Aw, man... Danny!" He looked scandalized.

"What?" I demanded. I took a big forkful of fries, larger than I would normally take, and after smearing them thoroughly with mayonnaise, I ate it. I closed my eyes, savoring the flavor. I didn't need to look at Jack to know the precise look on Jack's face.

"Ugh! That's disgusting!"

I have too few hobbies in life. I made a big show of eating the fries and mayo. While it's true that this concoction wasn't French, it certainly was European. Jack would argue that it's close, or he would have if he hadn't been otherwise occupied looking like I was about to eat something truly horrific. There are things even I refuse to touch.

But grossing Jack out is probably one of my favorite joys.

He was still going on over my culinary abomination. Jacques was long since forgotten. "That's revolting! Absolutely repulsive! Ruining all my cooking. I haven't seen anything that disturbing since you tried to make steak tartar for Teal'c."

"Sorry?" I said, even though I wasn't. I reached for the mayo again.

"Yeah, sure you are. I know you better than that." Jack knocked my hand away, then pulled my chair back just enough so he could slip through onto my lap. He shifted a bit, especially after I yelped. He has a bony butt. Once he was comfortable, straddling my thighs, he gave me a stern look. "I should punish you."

I had to swallow so I didn't laugh and choke. I put my arms around him, pulling him close. "This I have to see."

"Rightly so. You're being very bad, Daniel." Somehow, trying to look stern and leering just didn't work well with Jack's features. His eyes gave the attempted seriousness away, and his lips twitched way too much. "Since you're messing with my French food, I think I'll punish you with another French thing."

"Promising," I said, trying to look woeful.

"I think so." And then his lips were against mine again. He tasted like sugar and spice, but anything that cliché might have inspired quickly ended when the kiss changed. The pressure became demanding, and Jack's tongue demanded entry to my mouth. He plundered the moment I yielded, exploring and claiming at the same time.

I sometimes suspect him of sneaking Cosmo magazine now and again, if only for the articles about spicing up your love life. My eyes shot open as he did something, I don't know what, that made everything tingle. Shivers shot down my spine. Jack pressed himself closer, and I pulled him the rest of the way. I was moaning, my hands going up to tangle in the short hair of his neck. He wasn't exactly moaning, but maybe grunting.

No, he was definitely grunting. The moan only came when I rubbed my hardened groin against him. The sound was dragged out of him, and he pulled back. His lips were red, his eyes black, and he was leering again.

I could only gasp.

" _Voilà_ ," he purred into my ear. "French kissing. Did you pay attention?"

"Huh?" I gasped. "What?"

"I love it when I kill your brain cells," he laughed. He nipped my earlobe, then soothed it with gentle kisses. _Un petit bec_ to go with the theme of the night. I yelped then moaned again. "I asked if you were paying attention."

"Couldn't." By that time, I was letting my lips wander down his throat, but I decided to focus on that little spot right beneath his ear. He made a little moan and moved his head so I could have better access. I mumbled against his skin. "Someone had their tongue down my throat."

I felt his laugh against my lips. "Smart ass."

"Love it when you praise my butt." I kept up my exploration. His skin tasted of salt, warmth, and of a faint hint of the feast before us. He really started to move, his sudden erection pressing against my stomach, and his thighs stimulating my own hardened groin.

"I've got better things to do with your hiney." He was trying to growl, but every few words was punctuated with a hard gasp. Sounding like that, he was a bit hard to take seriously. He knew that. He reached behind, sliding his hands down to the seat of my chair. Grabbing a cheek for each hand, he squeezed in time with his grinding, and we gasped in unison.

"Oh, God..." My eyes squeezed shut, and I sought Jack's mouth again. I love his aggressive shows of affection just as much as I adore the tender ones... and the bizarre ones.

"Just Jack, thanks," he grinned, and stole one last hot kiss before pulling away. His hands squeezed my ass one more time before going up to chastely rest on my shoulders. When he spoke, the accent was back. "But first, you must finish eating!"

I groaned in disappointment. I wanted to eat, and it wasn't the French toast. I whined, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. "Jack..."

"Jacques," he corrected, pitilessly even though I could still feel his cock against me. He turned, the friction causing me to gasp, as he reached behind him to get a piece of French toast. He ripped off an edge and placed it delicately into my open mouth. "Besides, I know you never eat when you're away."

"I did too eat," I protested between morsels shoved into my mouth.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not!" Jacques wasn't much different from Jack, always wanting the last word. "Lattés are not food."

"With biscotti, of course they are," I shot back. "And for your information, I did eat. I went to cafés, and delis, and even a bistro. And -"

The rest of the slice found its way into my mouth. Jack's palm covered my open mouth. "Chew, and quit your yapping. You're letting my food get cold."

What I put up with.

My hand groped over the tablemat, and encountered a piece of bread. I pulled it toward me. I couldn't smile with Jack's hand pressed over my lips, but that would have been giving away the game. The baguette had Brie crumbled and slathered over its surface. I brought it up and forced part of it into Jack's open mouth.

"Better eat up, too, _mon chéri_!" I crowed through my mouthful. I was lucky that pieces didn't fall into my lap. "You need all the energy you can get. Old man..."

Jack gave me his dirtiest look, then screwed up his face when he tasted the rind. I tore away the remainder, popping it into my mouth the moment I'd swallowed the toast. Jack glared at me, dark eyes promising retribution as he forced himself to chew and swallow the bread like a civilized man.

Or at least his meager attempt to be one...

"Oh, that is _so_ disgusting," he groaned. He grabbed the wine to rinse his palate. "Ugh. Mould and dirty socks."

I rolled my eyes. The moment my mouth was clear, I kissed him. Into his mouth I murmured, "Tastes good to me."

"Yeah, you'd think so," he said, pulling back for a moment with a grimace.

We ate almost everything on the table, though Jack made a pointed effort to avoid the Brie. He slid off my lap to pull up a chair next to me, and we fed each other the odd bite. Every so often, our hands would slip into the other's lap, calmly rubbing the lingering erections. When there was only a bit of cheese and some French toast left, we were full, warm, and frustrated.

The smug look on Jack's face said that he was more than happy with that result. He kissed my flushed cheeks and started to clear off the dishes. I finished off my glass, watching him move. I grinned when I noticed that the fake moustache was definitely smudged into obscurity. I wiped a finger over my own upper lip, and over my five o'clock shadow was the missing moustache.

That result satisfied me more. I got up, smoothing my wrinkled clothes, and wandered off in search of my discarded luggage. I left the bags in the front hallway after fetching the plastic bag that held Jack's gift. I clutched the package to my chest as I made my way to the kitchen.

Jack was at the sink, rinsing off the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. I leaned in the doorway and watched him work. He moved methodically in a pattern, from sink to appliance. After a few moments, I noticed that he was watching from the reflection in the window. His heated back eyes stared and met with my gaze.

" _Qu'est-ce que c'est?_ " Jacques asked.

"Your present."

"Oh?" He put the last dish in and closed the door. He wiped his hands on the dishtowel as he made his way over. I held out the package, and he took it with a bemused expression. "Looks to be a little big for a business card, Daniel."

"I never noticed."

One thin corner of his lips turned up. "I always wondered about your observational skills."

"Oh, give me a break. The trip didn't go _that_ badly," I protested. "Open it."

"Pushy little archaeologists," he teased. He plunked himself down on the nearest chair. His fingers carefully manipulated the plastic. Once he had it open, he peered inside. His eyebrows slightly, then he laughed. "Daniel!"

I grinned. "Surprise!"

He held up the jersey, looking at the logo with an ironic smile. "I firmly believe in the 'thought that counts' school of gift-giving. So, thank you, even though the team, to put it mildly, sucks."

"What makes you think that wasn't the idea?" I said, trying to look innocent but probably not succeeding.

"Well, then." Jack beckoned me close, and grabbed onto my belt. "I guess it's just my luck that I am a man with plan."

"Plan?" Jack was taking my shirt out of my waistband. As soon as he had bare skin to play with, his hands were on my stomach. I forced myself to stay still. Jack was gentle, making sure he didn't tickle, and that was why I dared to remain where I was. "What plan might that be?"

He looked up and grinned. "A certain plan..."

He stood up, and took my shirt with him. I stayed still to let him do what he wanted. He tossed the discarded shirt into the hallway, and slipped the jersey over my head. I put my arms into the sleeves, and the hem came down to brush against my chino-covered thighs. The fabric felt cool against my skin.

"Now what?" I asked, and I was trying not to laugh.

"You'll see..." he said. His hands slid up and worked at my belt. He unbuckled it, slid it out and tossed it near the shirt. He began to push my pants and boxers down my thighs. I stepped out of each leg, and they went to join my other clothes. "I said that New York sucks, right?"

My hands were busy, pulling out his own shirt. "I went to school in New York, you realize."

"Lucky for me," he laughed. He cupped his hand over my jersey covered cock, gently massaging me. I moaned, and pulled him closer for a hard kiss. He pulled back to gasp for breath. "God, I'm glad you're home, Daniel."

"Glad to be here, and Jack, for the record?" I paused, waiting until I had his attention completely focused upon me. "That was the most blatant and pitiful come-on I think you've ever inflicted on me."

"I have the best saved for last."

"What?" His hand was moving again, harder this time. If he kept it up, I would be finished before we even began. I loved the warmth of his palm against me, and the texture of the jersey against my heated skin was excitingly novel. "Jack, come on!"

He didn't answer for another few moments. He waited until I was completely flustered in his arms. He brushed his lips gently over my lips more time, as though to kiss me, then moved to whisper in my ear. The soft growl and the heat of his breath sent a shudder down to curl my toes.

"' _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?_ '"

The answer couldn't have been clearer when I grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the bedroom.

*fin*


End file.
